


Kairos

by Virtuella



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-Finale, Sherlock Texting, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sherrinford aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 21:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14505621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtuella/pseuds/Virtuella
Summary: Kairos: ancient Greek, meaning "moment of opportunity." Sherlock's kairos has come and he really, really needs to seize it. Something he finds in the ruins of his flat will offer unexpected assistance.





	Kairos

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimers apply

**Can I see you? SH**

**Not now. MH**

 

No, perhaps not right now. I have an urgent appointment with the shower and afterwards a date with my bed. Well, the guest bed at John’s place. I want to get back into Baker Street as soon as possible, but I need windows at least, Mrs Hudson says the glazier is coming tomorrow to take measurements and all sorts of stuff about it being a listed building and a special type of triple glazing to meet energy standards and there are government grants available only she doesn’t know how to apply for them online and I am well aware that I am thinking about this to avoid thinking about other things, Eurus, kindly get out of my head, I will speak to you again soon, but all in good time, now please get me a towel, John.

 

**Can I see you today? SH**

**No. MH**

**I need to talk to you. SH**

**Not now. MH**

 

Fair enough, let’s get on with other things on this bright new morning where we are grateful to be alive. I am assessing the toll Sherrinford has taken on me. My whole body aches.  My left ear is throbbing; I have no idea why. John really should have a look at my hands and remove the splinters. At least I did get some sleep, though nowhere near as much as I needed. I was lying awake for hours. Nightmares might have been preferable to the waking horrors that ran through my head. Victor. A small boy terrified at the bottom of a well as the waters rise up. How can I bear it? I have a sister who became a murderess and arsonist at the age of five. All for the love of me. Oh, god, what will my parents say? I could do with some TLC.

 

**I really need to see you. Can I come over? SH**

**Not now. MH**

**Is that all you’re ever going to say to me now? SH**

 

No reply.

 

Mess. So much mess to be sorted. The Trevors will have to be told. Families of the Sherrinford victims to be notified. Someone will have to speak to my parents and I fear it will be me. My family is a mess. My flat is a mess. My body is a mess. My mind is a disaster area. Marauding hordes roaming the corridors of my mind palace. That’s where I’ll have to start. Tidy up my inner world before I tackle the outer. I spend the rest of the day on John’s sofa, uttering not a word.

 

**So when can I see you? SH**

**Hard to say. MH**

 

Ten words. Ten bloody words she has found me worthy of in three days. It’s not the number of words, though, is it? _You are my friend. We are friends. I love you._  That’s ten words, too.

 

I send another text, hoping Molly is up past midnight as well.

**Please can I see you? SH**

**Please. I want to explain what happened. SH**

**I don’t want to know. MH**

 

I could just barge into her flat; I have a key. Ha. I may be an idiot, but even I know that that’s not the best way to proceed. And when I say not the best, I mean that as an understatement. After I have broken into Molly’s heart like a burglar, what right do I have to set a foot near her home?

John comes in, looks concerned.

_You told them?_

_Mycroft did most of the talking, but yes._

_And how are they?_

_Outraged. Which is better than expected, I suppose. Mycroft is taking them over to Sherrinford tomorrow._

John nods slowly, runs his hand over his hair.

_And … Molly?_

_Still doesn’t want to see me._

_Give her time. She’ll come round eventually._

John doesn’t get it. The coffin, John, the coffin! Eurus gave me a message. We cannot carry on waiting, delaying. The lives we live, with the bullets that fly in them, only a fool would postpone a thing like this for a month or even a week. You said so yourself not long ago, John. The chance is gone before you know it. So I shake my head.

_There’s no more time to be lost, John. I thought you would approve of me having come round to your view of things._

_Phone her then. Phone her on my phone, so she’ll pick up._

_Can’t do this over the phone._

_And what exactly is “this,” Sherlock?_

I wave my hand in the air in a gesture that is meant to look exasperated but that ends up conveying my utter inadequacy. The sun sets on another day.

 

**Will you let me see you at all? SH**

**I don’t know yet. MH**

**I’ll wait. Let me know when you’re ready to talk to me. SH**

 

No reply to that. John is coming over today to help with the clear-up. Mycroft hasn’t offered to get his hands dirty, but has sent a few men. There are strangers in my sitting room picking through the rubble and bagging up the charred remains of my life. Mrs Hudson is fussing. I stand in the way of everyone. A man surplus to requirements in his own home.

Then I see it. The blast has pushed it off the desk and it lies half hidden behind an upturned chair. I haven’t been looking for it, but now I have found it, I realise that I have wanted it.  A Japanese red lacquer box, six inches by three, only slightly blacked at one corner. It once held a small, elegant fountain pen which I foolishly took with me when I died and subsequently lost – read: was robbed of – in a Serbian prison.

If the box is intact, then the content will be, too. I lift the lid. Yes, it’s there.

It’s only a scrap of card. A gift tag, many years old but in pristine condition, because I’ve kept it in the box all this time, one of my most cherished possessions. Because it says:

_Dearest Sherlock_

_Love, Molly xxx_

Yes, Molly, that’s how it went. I lost your gift, but I kept this little shred of paper with your tender words and the three kisses. And sometimes, when I have been very good, I allow myself to look at it.

 

Suddenly I know what to do. I take a photo of the tag in its slightly charred box and send it to Molly with just a single word:

**Proof**

Then I sink into the armchair and wait, oblivious to the bustle around me. I slowly fade from view. Time winds itself through the inner and the outer spaces, a Moebius Band of anxiety as I stare at the phone. If this fails…

 

**Can I see you? MH**

I know I would give a different answer at different times, but if you asked me right at this moment, I would say the best of all feelings is relief.

**You know where to find me. SH**

**PS: XXX**

 

 

 


End file.
